


A Turkey and Some Mistletoe

by Iocane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: Connor's getting into the holidays and Hank is loving it.He's also loving Connor, not that the android knows that, of course!Then Connor starts to go a little overboard with the mistletoe ...





	A Turkey and Some Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yrslovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrslovely/gifts).



It would be safe to say that Hank's feelings about Christmas were mixed at best. 

As a kid, he'd loved it, as children do. He never had a hard moment of betrayal and disillusionment about Santa, just a gradual shift from toys and games to clothing and gift cards. By the time he finished high school, he was more about the giving than the getting.

College, the academy, his job, for a while Christmas went between a nice way to spend an evening to keeping track of who arrested the most drunk Santas. Except for one noteworthy year in his early twenties, Christmas was mostly just another day.

Then Cole came, and he loved Christmas again. Holding his son up on his shoulders to put the star on the tree, sneaking out to stuff a few more presents under the tree when no one was looking.

Hank doesn't remember his first Christmas after Cole was gone. He just crawled into a bottle of Winter Jack and didn't come out again until after New Years.

The following ones hadn't been much better, and '38 had looked to be going the same way. 

Then the androids began deviating in ever increasing numbers; Connor; the uprising. That year, Christmas passed by without so much as a blip in the general chaos that had become Hank's life. Things hadn't settled until well into January, and Hank wasn't used to Connor living at his place until March.

It was interesting, watching Connor work out how to be a real boy on his own terms. Without anyone telling him what to think or how to feel. Hank would wake to find him on the couch, LED blinking a slow, soft yellow of deep thought, pondering whatever mystery had caught his lightning quick mind.

It was July when Hank realized he was head over heels for the fussy little android. 

Swayed by Connor's enthusiasm for human holidays, a barbecue had been planned and carried out for the fourth of July. Half the guests couldn't do more than sample the food, but Hank had rustled up enough humans - to his own surprise - to ensure that it was worth replacing his shitty rusted out Hibachi grill.

Hank had been tending his new grill, carefully flipping burgers with one hand, ice cold beer in the other. On the far side of the little yard, talking with Markus and one of their human neighbors, he'd seen Connor. Pale skin almost glowing in the bright summer sun, he wore shorts and a t-shirt, holding a bottle of chilled thirium.

Sumo had been making his rounds, earning absent pats and occasional leftovers from the guests. When he got to Connor, the android had all but stopped his conversation and dropped to one knee, giving Sumo a scratch around his ruff, under his collar the way he liked it. Sumo had leaned into it, as he does, and Connor had laughed.

Hank had heard Connor laugh quite a few times. He'd seen him pet his dog even more than that. But something about that moment had smacked Hank right between the eyes and made his chest ache with such ferocity that he worried for a second he was having a heart attack.

Then it passed, Connor stood and resumed his conversation. Sumo decided he'd had enough random pettings and flopping at his feet. Hank was left with a twisted feeling in the pit of his stomach, and an uncomfortable warmth somewhat lower.

He kept it to himself, of course. Hank wasn't a catch for anyone, no matter how much Connor seemed to find him fascinating. Hank dismissed it, in his mind, based on on something Connor had said in the first days of their acquaintance. Deviant androids demonstrated a fascination with organic life. Hank just figured he and Sumo were Connor's organic hyperfixations.

By the time fall rolled around, Hank was almost used to that tight feeling in his stomach whenever Connor leaned too close; whenever he touched him. It was still hard not to stare sometimes, but Connor was straight up beautiful and Hank couldn't always help himself. He tried not to get caught, preferring to live with the ache than to upset Connor and have him leave.

It  _ would  _ upset Connor, Hank was certain of that. The one time Hank had casually mentioned Connor should date; even mentioning that cute number in accounting Hank had seen ogling him, he'd been graced with a dirty look and a polite but firmly expressed disinterest in dating.

So Hank kept it to himself, and if he drank a little more because of it, it was nobody's business. Besides, drinking more was relative, now. His alcohol consumption had taken a nosedive after the android liberation, so drinking a little more now was nothing to what it had been before.

By the time Thanksgiving came, Connor had opted for a full internal upgrade.  So when Hank had gotten his usually declined invitation to a cousin's feast, he'd accepted on the condition that Connor be allowed to come. Since he was fascinated with holidays, let him see this one up close and in person, better than Hank could manage on his own.

Connor had gushed the entire three hour drive home, thanking Hank profusely for bringing him, complimenting his family, their kindness, and the food. Hank couldn't have kept from grinnig if he'd wanted to.

He should have realized that immediately following Thanksgiving was Christmas. Connor had asked if he could decorate, and Hank agreed without much thought. It was standard at first, lights outside, garland and candy canes and santas indoors.

Then he started with the mistletoe. First a patch dangling from the ceiling by the front door. Hank pretended he hadn't noticed, complimenting the other decorations instead. It was a mix of some of Hank's old decorations, and new ones acquired with Connor's generally unused paycheck.

"One sprig per house is the standard, Connor," Hank pointed out, voice rough with sleep. Connor was on a stepladder in the kitchen, hanging more mistletoe.

Connor's LED blinked yellow, no doubt researching counter arguments. "Androids have to make their own traditions. I've decided I like mistletoe."

It was only then that Hank's sleepy mind realized the man also had on a santa hat. Adorned with mistletoe. "Careful, Con, don't want too much, someone might get the idea you don't know what it means."

"I know what it means, Hank!" Connor climbed down off the ladder and put it away, then stood directly under what he'd hung.

Of course he knew what it meant. Which made his fixation with it all the weirder. Still, if Hank  _ declined _ the tradition, it would be Noteworthy, and Connor would want to know why. Besides it was supposed to be bad luck  _ not  _ to kiss under the mistletoe.

So he shuffled forward and bussed Connor's cheek before turning towards the coffee pot. Connor smelled strangely nice, like plastic water bottles left in the car during the summer, a hint of lemon, and the faintest whiff of Hank's cologne. Hank assumed that came from himself and not Connor.

Over the next week, Connor hung a few more sprigs and Hank had to endure kissing Connor's cool cheek when what he really wanted to kiss was his smart-ass mouth. He also made a note to dial back his cologne, if he was still smelling it when he got home, he was putting on too much.

"I've already done a little shopping but is there anything specific you want for Christmas, Con?" Hank was putting their dinner leftovers away while Connor washed the dishes. 

"Christmas isn't meant to be about material possessions, Hank."

"I know that!" Before Hank could say anything else, a firm, slightly cool android body was pushed against his side, and those cool lips were surprisingly soft on his cheek. 

"I'll be happy with whatever I get," Connor whispered into Hank's ear, causing him to shiver and not just because of the general coolness of android breath.

Hank cleared his throat when Connor moved away. "That's, uhm, that's good. I'm gonna go grab a quick shower." A really cold one.

When Hank emerged wrapped in a bathrobe and trying not to shiver, he was cursing himself. Cold showers in the middle of winter in  _ Detroit  _ were contra-fucking-indicated. Did the job, though. He vigorously towelled his hair, then dressed before heading back to the living room to wind down before bed.

Already tired of the christmas songs on the radio, he turned it off, then flipped through his vinyl, finding a jazz christmas album. After carefully setting the needle in place, he settled on the couch. Part of him wanted a drink, preferably something alcoholic but Connor was fussing in the kitchen and Hank saw two mugs on the counter.

Sure enough, Hank soon had a large penguin-in-a-santa-hat mug warming his hands as he took a sip. "Whoo, that's got some kick," he chuckled, tasting a spicy pepperiness in the chocolate that was surprisingly pleasant.

Connor's grin outshone the Christmas tree in the corner and Hank had to glance away or he'd be needing another shower.

"Hank?" Connor's voice was surprisingly quiet.

"Yeah, Con?" When Hank turned his face back towards him, he realized Connor was sitting closer than usual, taking up the middle cushion rather than the far corner.

"What do  _ you  _ want for Christmas?" Connor's head tipped and Hank was reminded of one of their earlier encounters, when Hank had called him goofy in an effort to push him away.  It hadn't worked, thankfully.

Hank took a long, slow sip to avoid having to answer right away. What he wanted, he knew he wasn't going to get, so he just gave Connor a smile. "I'll be happy with whatever I get," he echoed his sentiment from earlier.

Connor's LED flickered slightly.  "Can I ask a personal question?" 

"We've been living together for a year, I think you can skip the preface, Con," Hank chuckled into his mug.

"Do you have an objection to the tradition of mistletoe?" As he spoke, Connor leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed keenly on Hank.

Hank took a very slow sip of his hot chocolate in an attempt to forestall answering, and gather his thoughts. "It's not the mistletoe itself. And I don't mind the tradition; the, uhm, kissing part. Just, it can get awkward when you keep getting stuck under it with someone you don't usually kiss anyway." Especially when you very much  _ wanted  _ to be kissing them, and were pretty certain they didn't lean that way at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Connor's LED go yellow, with a flicker of red. If Hank had his guess, preconstructing the rest of the conversation, or at least his possible responses. There had to be a lot if he was thinking that hard about it. "Is it that you'd rather not be kissing at all or would you prefer it were someone ... else?"

The way Connor's voice got very quiet there at the end had Hank turning to look at him properly, surprised to see his usually direct gaze pointed downward. His hands were resting neatly in his lap but after a year, Hank could see the tenseness in them, the way he was stopping from flexing his fingers or reaching for that coin of his.

Connor was waiting for an answer and Hank had no idea what to give him. Tell the kid he was in love with him, and it was agony to be kissing him under the pretense of tradition, knowing it would go no further? Gently put him off with the implication that there  _ was  _ someone else, so maybe he'd be less insistent? Distract him somehow? 

Hank opened his mouth to point out that the mistletoe was excessive, that was all. By the front door, over the fridge, over the sink, over the coffee maker, the scrap of hallway between his bedroom and the bathroom, the juncture of kitchen, livingroom, and hallway, even over the turntable. Pretty much anywhere Hank was apt to stand more than half a second had been festooned with mistletoe. It was almost as if-But Connor didn't  _ want _ to date, he'd said so! And even if he did, why Hank?

"You look as if you've been hit on the head," Connor observed and Hank realized he'd been silent far too long and his stomach curled uncomfortably.

"Think maybe I have," he said, leaning to set his mug down. "To answer your question- There isn't someone else I'd rather be kissing. And it isn't the kissing I have a problem with, per ce. It's that it's ... just for the sake of tradition. If I'm gonna kiss yo-someone, I'd rather it be because they  **wanted** me to kiss them, not because some plant says we have to."

"And putting a dozen sprigs of mistletoe isn't an indication that kissing would be accepted?"  This time when Connor tilted his head, it was accompanied by a curiously raised eyebrow.

Thinking about it, Connor had a point. "I figured it was just you going a little Christmas happy, spreading your holiday wings and figuring shit out."

Connor leaned forward then, one arm on the back of the couch as he crowded into Hank's personal space. "For a police lieutenant, you can be  _ fantastically  _ dense."

"I just figured you had ... far better options for, uhm, mistletoe entrapment," Hank gave a weak smile, his eyes drifting to Connor's lips.

"Mistletoe was a last resort. You've been ... resistant to my other indications."

"What other indications?" Connor hadn't said or implied anything about wanting to be more than roommates.

Connor's LED flashed yellow, then blood red for a moment and his eyes narrowed. "I could spend  _ quite _ some time enumerating a years worth of courtship attempts. Or you can kiss me."

Hank had a lot of questions. Courtship? Why him? A YEAR? Where did Connor see this going? Instead of asking, however, his quietly simmering need took over and he bridged the gap between them, pressing his mouth against those cool, soft lips.

Before he was fully cognizant of Connor moving, Hank found himself with a lapful of android. When Hank finally had to come up for air, something had occurred to him and he smirked a little. His hands had found their way to Connor's hips and he slid them up to stroke his waist. "You asked if I had a problem with mistletoe. I don't, actually. In fact, I have a tattoo of mistletoe. Got it when I was in my early twenties and drunk off my ass around Christmas time."

Connor gave a laugh at that. "Where?"

"Let's just say it was my way of telling everyone to kiss my ass."


End file.
